City of God (33 page)

“Where was the teacher?” Sam demanded.

“Looking out the window. She is an ugly old woman with a mustache, and the girls took her scissors to do this and she didn’t tell them not to.”

“And your clothes? They don’t look as if they were cut with scissors.”

“The boys tore my clothes. Outside while I was waiting for Fat Cheeks to come.”

Mei Lin was not again sent to the free public school, and the matter of her American schooling was dropped. Mei-hua and Ah Chee thought the Lord Samuel had forgotten all about the insane notion that the child should be sent out of the house to be educated, particularly since Mei-hua was herself instructing her daughter in reading and writing Mandarin, playing the
gu zheng
, and skills such as embroidery, which Mei-hua had acquired because the Lord Samuel had insisted upon it when he was preparing her to be his supreme lady
tai-tai
. As for whose
tai-tai
Mei Lin would be, that was now a matter for the gods. Both Mei-hua and Ah Chee would burn so much incense that when the time was right a proper husband would be found. Despite the fact that the girl would have big ugly feet. The right man would look at her exquisite eyes and not notice her feet. Much incense. Much incense.

The day in 1843 when Ah Chee returned home to the smell of white smoke in the downstairs hall and the bins of unemptied rubbish by the door, she was not expecting to have to deal again with this very much too crazy idea about going out of the house to school. She let herself into the rooms on the top floor and stopped when she saw Mei-hua and Mei Lin holding each other and rocking back and forth and crying. “What happened? What? What? Quick tell this old woman before my heart stops. What?”

It was Mei Lin who managed to stop crying long enough to explain that her father had told them that the next day she was to be taken to another school. “Different he says. Taught by people who will not stand and look out the window if other children are mean to me. But,” she added, beginning again to wail, “I do not believe it.”

“She will be fine, Cousin Carolina. I am quite sure little Ceci does not have the croup, only an ordinary cough associated with her cold.”

“Thank you, Cousin Nick. It was good of you to come. You always make me feel much better.”

“That, my dear, is what doctors are supposed to do.”

Carolina laughed. “Years ago you told me you had no skill with bedside manners. Look how you underestimated yourself.”

“Not really. I merely get by. It’s Dr. Klein who has all the ladies of Crosby Street and points north lined up to consult him.”

“How is he? And his growing family?”

Ben had married Bella Markus a few years earlier. Nick had been invited to the wedding and found it extraordinary—singing and clapping even during the ceremony. “Ben and Bella are both splendid. Two children already. I was invited to dinner recently and told that another was—” He broke off when he saw her head swivel toward the parlor door.

“Excuse me.” Carolina had heard no bell and no sound of Dorothy coming up from downstairs, but the front door had opened and closed. Apart from her, only Samuel had a key. She went quickly to open the door of the parlor. Her husband was standing in the hall, holding a small valise. “Samuel, I thought it must be you. Cousin Nicholas is here.”

“Is he? Oddly, I don’t find that a surprise.”

She flushed and hated herself for it. “He came to see Ceci. She has not been well.”

Nick observed the exchange from the parlor. There was not just tension between them, he thought, there was a palpable animosity. “She has a bad cold and a cough, Cousin Samuel,” he said. “Cousin Carolina feared the croup, but it is nothing so dire.”

“I am glad to hear it. And I suppose I should thank you for coming all the way from Crosby Street to tell my wife such good news. Particularly since there are perfectly competent doctors closer by.”

“Naturally, Samuel, I prefer someone I know and whom Ceci knows. I—”

Sam cut her off with a gesture. “I’ve some things to get upstairs. Don’t let me interrupt your consultation.”

He started up the stairs. Carolina turned back to Nick. “I’m sorry. He must be tired. I’m sure he wouldn’t—”

“There’s no need, my dear. Not with me.”

The soft words were almost her undoing. Carolina turned her head, and when Nick said he would be going, she simply nodded. “I’ve left
you a salve to rub on Ceci’s chest three times daily, and a tonic,” he said. “She’s to have a spoonful morning and night. Let me know if it’s doing her any good and I’ll arrange for more.”

“Thank you, Nick.”

He pressed her hand and left.

Surely whatever Samuel wanted from the upper floors of the house would be in his bedroom, the one across from hers, though he slept in it seldom and as far as she knew there were few of his personal belongings there. When Carolina heard his voice coming from Ceci’s room, her heart lifted a bit. He must have gone in to see how the child was feeling. Carolina, keenly aware that for all practical purposes her children had no father, hurried in to see if she could contribute anything to better relations between Samuel and his daughter.

“Wasn’t it good of your papa to come and see you since you’re ill, Ceci? You must thank him properly and—” She broke off when she saw her husband standing in front of the cupboard containing Ceci’s dresses and pulling them out one after the other. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking these four frocks.” Ceci was over a year younger than Mei Lin but bigger and taller. Ah Chee would have no difficulty altering the clothes. “What are the appropriate undergarments?” And when neither the girl nor Carolina answered, “Petticoats, I imagine. Chemises as well. Where are they? In this chest?”

“Papa, that blue frock is my favorite. Will you bring it back?”

“No. What do you wear beneath it? Tell me quickly, please.”

Ceci’s lower lip began to tremble. Carolina sat beside her on the bed and pulled the girl close. “It doesn’t matter, darling. We’ll have another blue frock made. I saw some lovely material in one of the shops. As soon as you’re well, we’ll—Not that drawer.” Samuel had started pulling out all the chest drawers and rifling through them. Ceci was a fastidious child, and all this rummaging through her things was bound to upset her. “Those are nightclothes,” Carolina said quietly. “Petticoats and chemises are indeed what you want. They’re in the drawer below.” She held Ceci
close all the while, feeling her grow hotter by the moment. The child’s fever was rising again. Let him take what he came for and get out.

Sam made a pile of the things he wanted, then began methodically putting them in the valise. “Shoes,” he said suddenly. “I suppose I should take shoes as well.” Mei Lin wore silk slippers in the house, straw-topped wooden clogs made by one of the lodgers on the few occasions she went outside. There were two pairs of boots with tiny buttons and patent leather dress shoes with a ribbon tie in the cupboard. He gathered up all three pairs. Ceci wailed.

“Don’t cry, Ceci,” Carolina said more sharply than she intended, as if it were the child making her feel this lump of rage that started somewhere in her stomach and spread fire throughout all the rest of her. “Don’t.” She stood up and went to stand beside the door to the little girl’s room. “There is nothing in that valise worth one of your tears. Your grandfather will see to it that you have new shoes. I promise.”

Sam started to leave, then paused and looked directly at his wife for the first time. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure he will. Or perhaps they will be supplied by…what does she call him? Uncle Nicholas perhaps? That’s the custom among women who take lovers, or so I’m told.”

“How dare you.” She could not prevent the words, not even though she knew her six-year-old child was listening. She had suppressed too much for too long. “How dare you come here and speak to me like this? How dare you take the clothes of your lawful child for the bastard of your concubine? That’s what she’s called among the heathen orientals, isn’t it? I’ve made it my business to learn about such things. A concubine is the name for a Chinese whore, is it not?”

“Not precisely,” Sam said quietly, “they are somewhat different. But in this instance it will do. Except that you’ve got one thing wrong, Carolina. She is my wife. You are and always have been the concubine.”

Les Religieuses du Sacré-Coeur du Jésus
, The Religious of the Sacred Heart, came into existence in secret in 1800, in a France still shuddering from the effects of the Reign of Terror, which after the Revolution of
1789 had lopped off the heads of most of the ruling class and until the coming of Napoleon had left the country in the control of
les citoyens
, the great unwashed. The role of these women Religious of the Sacred Heart, in parallel with that of the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits, would be to educate to the highest Christian standards what remained of the children of the better classes. Thus, transformed by virtue, the higher-born might return to the power that was theirs by right.
Les Religieuses du Sacré-Coeur de Jésus
were, in other words, founded to educate the girls who would become the women who would rock the cradles of those who would rule the world. At least the Catholic world.

The Madams of the Sacred Heart was how the nuns were known in English, in 1840 when they arrived in New York City, having established their first American convents in Saint Louis and New Orleans. They came at the invitation of New York’s recently installed third bishop, John Hughes, the first Irishman to hold the office. The Madam sent to take charge of the society’s first convent in the east, a large house on the corner of Mulberry and Houston streets given to the congregation by the bishop, was a woman her community privately called,
la formidable.
She was Mother Aloysia Hardey, born in Piscataway, Maryland, and herself educated by the Madams in Louisiana.

“We have a separate school for the poor, Mr. Devrey,” Mother Hardey said. “Such children do not board here at the convent but come to lessons a few hours every day. Perhaps your ward would be better off being educated in that manner.”

“She is, as you say, madam, my ward. She is therefore not poor.” Sam cast a quick glance at Mei Lin sitting in the chair by the door to which she had been assigned. It seemed that Ah Chee had altered the blue frock perfectly well, and he had himself tied the child’s long, straight black hair back with a blue ribbon. “Does she look poor to you?”

“It is not, perhaps, Mr. Devrey, a matter of appearance.” Appearance, she knew, was superficial. Nonetheless, this child had most peculiar eyes. Not only an extraordinary shape, but a quite remarkably intense gray-blue, while her skin was the color of pale honey. Some might find her beautiful. No one would say she was not distinctive.

“If not her appearance, what then?” Samuel asked. “Why should you be reluctant to take her into your school?”

“I simply meant…Your ward is unusual looking, Mr. Devrey. Was she born here in America?”

“Eight years ago, right here in the city of New York, madam.” She’d told him she was to be addressed as Mother, but that seemed to him as preposterous as her outfit. She wore a long black woolen dress that swathed her from neck to ankles; a long black veil, and a stiffly pleated white ruff that encircled her face. “I suspect,” he said, “here in New York many people would think you unusual-looking as well.”

Mother Hardey permitted herself a small smile. “I grant you are correct in that, Mr. Devrey. Nonetheless, I must be concerned for the good of all our students at the convent, as well as the best thing for your ward. Is she intelligent?”

“Very.” He toyed with the notion of mentioning that the child was fluent in Mandarin as well as English.

“Nonetheless, I do think that in your ward’s best interests, Mr. Devrey, we—”

“She is, as you say, madam, my ward, and it is therefore my responsibility to decide what is best for her.”

“There are other schools, Mr. Devrey. And you are not, as you tell me, a Catholic. Nor is the child.”

“In other schools there is not, I think, such a high standard of discipline. A child who is, as you yourself point out, different, is liable to be teased. Even persecuted.”

Aloysia Hardey was not the sort of woman to let such a statement pass without saying what she thought of such behavior. “No one, absolutely no one, will be treated so under this roof, Mr. Devrey. You can be entirely certain of that. Persecution of any sort would never be tolerated.”

“So I believe.” Sam’s eyes had been opened to the possibility this new school presented by the story he’d heard from a business acquaintance, a wealthy Portuguese who had been willing to bring his family from Lisbon only now that he could send his three daughters to an appropriate Catholic school. The little girls lived five days a week with the nuns, the
Portuguese said, where they were taught to the highest possible standard and kept under the strictest imaginable discipline, enforced by women from the finest possible backgrounds and the most prominent families, women who, once they gave themselves to God, never left their convent.
Pure hearts and iron wills, Senhor Devrey. That is how we Catholics will eventually take over. We shall start with our wives and daughters.
He’d laughed when he said it, though Sam had no doubt the man meant every word. “I have brought my ward here precisely because of that guarantee of control.”